She stood beneath the spreading tree
and looked out far, across the sea
with wide eyes wonder , to the sky,
and softly wished to ask him why
her love that had to go so far,
across the waters, to a War
but just returned , was dancing rain,
that seemed to cry and say his name
and look, a Willow tree that sheltered her,
was like a sigh, against the sky
had branches like a comfort cloak,
but tempest shadows , returned like smoke
she wont forget their walks of green,
bare foot on days, in summers , seen
a sky of blue, like butterflies,
on Willow Tree, it rested high
Forget me knots and cornflowers blue,
a scene of wheatfields , its harvests new
he made a garland & held her hand
and gently left, for foreign lands
so she looked again across the sea
beneath the blue,
Blue Willow Tree.
As you walk down the dirt path, past the tall green trees,
I hope you remember who you are when you reach the willow tree.
You will inevitably get lost, confused in the woods,
struggling to find your way to the willow.
When the light dims, the whoos and coos of owls
and other nameless creatures will hymn in your ear,
distracting you from the overcompensation of your own voice
a light whisper of overthinking,
a gentle pluck of uncertainty.
The journey is long and weary,
more mournful for the woods you walk
than eager for the destination ahead.
With fleet, you fall,
but with glory, you rise
again and again
proving you know what you want.
Unsure of what lies at your destination,
you remain purely hopeful,
your mind already hanging by the tips
of the lanceolate leaves.
The sun fades to moonlight,
and you stand in the quiet presence
of a single thought
a dream that lingered
through the walking and the withering.
Thankful for sight,
eager never to turn your back to the wilderness,
for you have reached
nature.
Every rotation on your turn-table eye,
Or every buzz that the radio hums:
"Ah, I see, music sings through you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
The green of the frail willow tree I spy,
Or every flash of a sunbeam on the stroll:
"Ah, I see, colours shine through you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
Every frequent meal in this colourless place,
Or a willing treat if I'm likely to steal:
"Ah, I see, sweetness comes with you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
Every second I spend counting hours away
Or hours I spend counting days:
"Ah, I see, my time should be with you.
So no, I know,
I can't see you though.
No, I know,
I won't be okay."
On a hill far, far, away there lives a dead willow tree.
And if you visit there’ll be a girl, with long inky hair as deep as the darkest sky.
She wears long rags that are elegant and dances in the sowllow wind.
She comes every day with a beautiful dismay of light, then leaves when the sky turns to the deepest shade of moonlight.
But if you ask for her name she’ll point at a grave, then fade far, far, away as the wind shallowly presses on to a place too far away.
I used to imagine stepping off the shingles of my childhood home
Thought it might be poetic
To end it
Where it started
While perched there
Peaking over
Waiting for the wind to catch me right
I caught a glimpse of my old willow tree
My dad had planted it for me
I watched it grow
So slow
Still small now
Has so much left to go
I used to dream of climbing it one day
When it was big
And strong
And bright
I think one day I still might
Maybe life’s worth more
than my brains on the pavement
Maybe my life’s worth more
Sitting under this Weeping Willow
tree, I think of yesterdays gone by.
The special times I spent with my
Mom and Dad, I reminisce and cry.
They're no longer here, God took
them to a better place, away from
me.
Mom said," If I ever leave, look for
me in the clouds my son, that's
where I'll always be."
Now I go through life wishing I had
spent more time with them.
Wishing, I could go back in time
and relive my life again.
On a beautiful sunny day when those
beautiful clouds roam free.
I see the outline of my Mother's face,
like she said, my Mother, Anais.
Weeping Willow tree, no sun can shine through.
Nothing can grow beneath you.
Because of your rapacious roots, nothing can grow around you.
Your grievousness is your companion.
You stand strong against strong winds,
yet, you weep because no fowl will perch
in your pertinacious thickness.
my mind is fogged up,
my brain cannot process
the movement of body,
my muscles are useless.
i feel like im drunk - it's just probably stress..
my vision is worse, my mind is a mess..
im trying to get my feet on the ground,
but i fail every time when i try to reach down.
the morning is shred by me, many times,
as i try to regret the things that i've done.
but i cannot undo them, they're all in the past.
the remedy's nowhere, how long will it last?
I don't know whether she's still there.
And nor do I really know why I even care.
For so many years she never crossed my mind.
But Daddy always taught me not to be the
forgetting kind. It would be nice to see her being
gently touched by the wind as she weeps painlessly.
An old weeping willow tree arrested my thoughts today
after many years. There was nothing sad enough about
the thought that grew a tear but, in my heart, I feared that
the willow tree may have met her demise. In my memory,
I saw her as stable and strong, a coveted shade provider at
the time. Back when I was just a boy, she seemed older than
the house in whose yard she grew. I remember her well, a striking
site ascending in fields of cotton, not far from a lovely pond popular
with ducks. Perhaps one day on a leisurely drive with my lifelong bride,
I shall ascertain her present status. And only then shall I be satisfied.
060223PS
I seat beneath the Willow Tree and wonder what tomorrow will be
My hands and feet feel so free
I close my eyes and dream of what tomorrow will bring
I wonder about land and how it all began
Before the man ran and got his van they set their plans for a better tomorrow.
I look up from my slander and ask what have we become the wind blows so harshly throughout the Willow Tree I listen closely and hear was this might be.
I look to see the land is not what it use to be it just full of what man wants it to be
The willow tree asks me can't you see what it used to be, there is only me!!.
The Birds have flown so far and in between with no home for a song to get them along. Bees buzz around the willow tree why can't man let it be?
Miss kl worsnop 27 OF FEBRUARY 2023
Weep willow weep your weary winter woe
At the sight of your icy, new trousseau,
Above the frosted brook, a mirror faux
Her reflection was horribly so-so,
With rigid branches laced in flakey snow
White, a favorite color, not hers though,
Clear crystals clung, dressing her to and fro
All stitched on by a hand who did not sew,
Frozen stiff, her tears slow their new tempo.
(November 8th, 2022)
Summer willow tree
Tree tears dropping on the soil
Birds quenching their thirst
I sat down underneath a willow tree
far from the crowds in a secluded place.
Soon all my worldly cares began to flee.
God’s beauty all around me I could see.
While supple limbs moved in the breeze with grace,
I sat down underneath a willow tree.
Wildflowers swayed beneath a buzzing bee
and dancing shadows seemed to interlace.
Soon all my worldly cares began to flee.
I watched intently when I noticed three
small chickadees to some big crows gave chase!
I sat down underneath a willow tree.
Some rabbits scurried through the field. With glee,
I pictured myself with them in a race!
Soon all my worldly cares began to flee.
Serenity and joy had come to me
while occupying my newfound sweet space.
I sat down underneath a willow tree.
Soon all my worldly cares began to flee.
March 2, 2022
For An Original Villanelle Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Sitting under the willow tree
on a hot and gray day
just passing the evening away
delicate sounds of thunder
rumble far far away
watching the winds run and play
the grass softly turns
as waves in a Jade run
while rolling hill’s laze
a little white house
in the middle of the planes
small distant beyond all
under a haloed sun
dark at noon day, cooling
gentle breeze as it carries a hint of fall
on its way sitting under a willow tree
besides a deep pond watching the ripples
cast a wish upon each stone away
watching every stone as they fall away
my life passing the days away
feeling an ancient House fluttering in the distant
on milky white sands emeralds waters lap
with the tears of forgotten life sitting
under a willow tree
on a dyeing hot brilliant day
a dark shadow on horizon race
tossing the stones of a heavy life away
into a dark emerald pawn
discarding the stains of my barren days
here comes the raines again
falling like a new emotion
drop absently drip
each ripple the moments of thought
the house white haunted the lands
where the wind turns
on times Shifting Sands
Taking vigil atop a hill,
Crying its bright green leaves into the wind,
They cascade down and writhe in the sky,
Grasping at the air like hands reaching out,
The bench taking refuge beneath it seating romantics and bookworms,
Birds perch in its loving arms,
Singing their songs and nestling their babies in the safety of its branches,
This tree is the crown jewel of the park and is loved by many,
Artists trying to capture its beauty on the remnants of another tree,
Children trying to climb up it with their tiny hands and courageous hearts,
Joggers seeking protection from the sun's harsh rays,
People come and go,
But the weeping willow never leaves.
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